A Cautious Pastime
by Bakurama
Summary: Falling into the killer's hands on a homicide case was not Ryou Bakura's cup of tea. It wasn't the killer's counterparts', either. AU. Tendershipping. STORY ON HIATUS.
1. Pilot

**Fandom: **Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters

**Paring: **Yami no Bakura x Ryou Bakura (Tendershipping.)

**Alternate Universe, Multiple Chapter, Slight OOC**

**Warnings: **Violence, blood, homosexual themes (later), and mild language

**Disclaimer: **I obviously don't own Yu-Gi-Oh! I'm just a fan. A few minor characters are the only things I'm entitled to.

**Summary: **_Falling into the killer's hands on a homicide case was not Ryou Bakura's cup of tea. It certainly wasn't the killer's counterpart, either. _

**A/N: **

Haggard breathes crept about the blood stained cement walls. Flecks of green from the moisture and bitter temperature were beginning at the creases of the confinement. A rather pungent smell of rotting flesh wafted through the air; only the peaceful silence would be comforting to the man in this cell. His lanky, pallid form only being held up by the shackles on his wrists, which were anchored onto the slimy cement above him. He could barely stand, yet this is what was keeping him up. He would black out, welcomed by the abyss, waking up to his shoulder being dislocated from the strain. The muscles in his legs were his only weapon, which barely sufficed. The only other sustenance he was receiving was water. Pure, sparkling water. He was given a cup every other day, and he always looked forward to it. Every few days he was given small portions of dried out bread. All in all, he was still alive. Maybe.

Ryou had been in this confinement for at least a month, he suspected. His only indicator was the 9x9 window that remained closed most of the time. On occasion his silver-haired captor, Bakura he discovered one day, would remove the thick oak block and reveal the glorious mother moon. That was his only suggestion to the passing of time.

He contemplated the vicious man. Bakura was tall and lithe, hovering over him to give him sedatives when Ryou first arrived. His eyes were a startling crimson, only standing out more on the fair skin tone. There was always a playful sneer on his dry lips, the wry grin mocking Ryou as he pitifully gulped down the liquid. Upon those snickers, a wafted smell of cigarettes and musk would fill the room. He'd come in the cell with a lit cigarette every so often. His hair nearly reflected Ryou's own, it being a downy white seemingly pointing in every direction. It was longer than his, Ryou noted. Sometimes he'd have it tied up, but it always seemed incredibly messy no matter how he wore it. Though, Ryou supposed his own was becoming rather messy, being confined without proper cleaning conditions. Sometimes Bakura would come in with an icy wet cloth to rub his face down a little. He almost seemed to pity Ryou, which also seemed absolutely ridiculous considering he can just barely recall being captured by said man. However, in the time period they were put in, Ryou did learn bits of information about the peculiar shadow. Being a graduate student in anthropology and a minor in psychology, he could pin a few things, which also made Ryou think that Bakura was not Ryou's real threat, and he was under orders. The precise timing, and a few slips of tongue. Bakura had also let slip things such as him being orphaned, possibly being a dealer of some sort, and showing a harsh outer shell of a person who had been used in various ways. However, there was sly intensity that made Ryou nervous. He also thought back to a massacre that occurred several years prior to a neighborhood in Essex, England. It had been all over the news. Ryou was only nine at the time it happened. They reviewed it in their psychopathic course back in his sophomore year of University. One boy had been missing from the neighborhood hadn't been found, and they presumed him dead. Bakura strongly resembled the boy with distinguished silvery hair, as it wasn't every day someone came across such as well as the personality and brief back story he received. Although in this day in age, Ryou could be wrong.

He tried not to share as much with Bakura, although the crimson eyed mystique had ways of slipping past barriers and finding out what he wanted, whether for this murder game or his own personal agenda. It was incredibly hard to resist, and you must always watch your tongue. As Bakura had told him of his parents, Ryou tried to subtly inform him of his mother's passing when he was a boy, and his father was away on expeditions. He never inquired where to, so the anthropologist left it there. He had shared he was a college graduate, but Bakura had finished his sentence before he got to tell him what he had a degree in. Although he wasn't sure if he should casually mention it or not, he was informed briefly that it was a reason he was here. Ryou then figured he was working on a case to catch a dangerous mass murderer, and he was a threat. Bakura didn't fit the profile the Criminologists mapped, but they had also calculated very carefully that said criminal was not working alone, and most likely had underlings. Bakura was his ally. Probing for more factors, Bakura had refused to answer the straight-forward question Ryou threw at him in regards to his criminal status. So, he had dropped it and only hoped that there was a possibility of maybe getting closer to Bakura, as attraction was eminent. Ryou couldn't deny, despite the tousled hair, knitted brows, and harsh voice the man was incredibly attractive. How atrocious, he had formed a slight crush on him during their short spurts of banter. When Ryou got out of here, if he ever did, he'd make sure to have both Bakura, his boss, and whoever else was involved put behind bars. No preposterous ardor emotions would stop that. He was dedicated to his work, and it would stay that way.

A sharp screech from the heavy steel door brought him out of his pondering state, meeting gazes with the smirking 'care taker.' He adorned a simple olive long-sleeved cotton shirt, dark blue jeans with warn knees that showed off bits of rough skin, and beaten-up work boots. A tray with water and crumbling bread in his hands. He swiftly closed the door, making sure to lock it. Ryou had no way of getting out, but just a precaution. His boss didn't know the level of their acquaintanceship, so it was better to just seem as though he came and left whenever. He had been forbidden to speak much to the victims of his partner in crime, but Ryou seemed quite intriguing to the fellow. There was a familiar spark of fight, yet he was pinned mercilessly to the wall.

"No dislocated arms today?" Bakura questioned.

Ryou gave him a weak glare, but answered with a sturdy, "No."

"Good, good. I'm not in the mood to pop them back in place anyway." He flipped his mop of hair behind his shoulder.

Ryou rolled his eyes, becoming way too comfortable with Bakura for his liking.

The captor slowly approached the weary man leaning against the wall, observing him carefully before taking two more confident strides and setting the tray down to fish the keys out of his pocket. He stopped himself and remembered his bucket of water and a clean shirt along with 'his box of secrets'. He gave a short, hollow chuckle at the name and hurried out of the room to drag the objects in after re-locking the door.

"What's all that for?" asked Ryou.

"Figured you'd need to clean, and a new shirt as well," he answered simply.

"What about the box? What's in it?"

"You don't miss much, huh? All in due time, dear boy," Bakura teased as he unlocked the restraints.

_Clink, clink._

Ryou ignored Bakura's tone and fell to his knees with a huff, rolling his shoulders and welcoming the relief. Bakura slid the tray closer to the man below him, as well as the bucket and a cloth. He kept the shirt and small cardboard box under his arm, strolling to the other side of the room. Ryou gave him a quizzical look, was he allowed eating and washing himself?

"I'm granting you a small freedom, don't waste it or I'll change my mind. Of course, you won't go unsupervised." He chuckled dryly, as if reading Ryou's mind.

"Of course. . . "

Ryou hungrily ate his bread and let the frigid water trickle down his parched throat. All the while, Bakura watched him, as if he had a secret he was waiting to spring, as well as a look of desire as Ryou slid off his muddied navy blue button-up. It was torn in a few places, but nothing drastic. He inspected his body a little, taking note of how much weight he had lost. His collar bones and ribs becoming more prominent, but that was the least of his worries. He ignored the hole that Bakura was burning into his body with his hungry crimson eyes and eagerly grabbed the cloth and dunked in the lukewarm water. He cleansed his arms, chest, stomach, neck, and anywhere else he could reach. All the while, sultry looks were being thrown in his direction.

Bakura perched himself on a shabby old stool across from Ryou. Not only did Bakura find Ryou interesting, he found him deliciously bewitching. His chocolate eyes rimmed with equally brown lashes and soft face being the center of his lurid dreams. Now, he was getting a most wonderful show. The times he'd touched him while washing his face and neck were a time of self control. Bakura took what he wanted. He was a liar, a thief, and now he was a killer's pawn as much as he hated it. But he found the need to take his sweet time, to enjoy every second of the tension bubbling throughout his being. Cahill, Bakura's denounced serial killer of a boss, wouldn't require much more of Ryou's intriguing skills, as he had refused to cooperate with the shaky duo. They would use him as bait to lure more and more of those wretched policemen, leading them on a blind trail. Bakura personally didn't see the point. He was only here for the mere excitement. Due to the fact that Cahill was away for a few weeks leaving Bakura with several of his useless servants to await further instructions, leaving Ryou to Bakura's care until he said something of the matter otherwise. When he would return, Bakura assumed Cahill would have Ryou killed, and his remains scattered about Domino City, just like the others. After that, Cahill would probably flee to another hideaway. Bakura would go where fate takes him. Unless he threw a wrench into the system, of course.

The sociopathic killer would be gone for another three weeks, at least he had told them. This would give Bakura time to help Ryou leave. He was too captivating to waste, even if Bakura did get caught, which he didn't plan on any time soon. Besides, he loved seeing people like Cahill squirm.

Ryou innocently continued his washing, splashing his face and trying to get some in his matted hair to at least keep it slightly maintained. He picked at a few stubborn locks of messy white hair as best he could, but unfortunately it didn't help very much. He inwardly sighed and peeked up at Bakura.

"I'm finished, " he announced.

"Heh heh, all right. I was quite enjoying the sight before me, but never the less . . ." Bakura's thoughts trailed off, subconsciously fingering the edges of the box next to him.

Ryou's cheeks threatened to flush with a tint of pink, but he was able to control himself.

"Before I go," Bakura stood up, dropping the spare shirt on the floor, "I'd like to leave the cops a little evidence, as well as my boss." An ominous smirk plastered onto his face.

Ryou lifted a brow in question, "What do you mean?" So he had been correct about Bakura not working alone. He was being very casual, giving Ryou too much information.

Without hesitation, Bakura briskly stepped forward, and much to Ryou's displeasure, he was bound to the wall once again. He wanted to resist with all his might, but he knew it to be useless. He knew Bakura was much, much stronger than him. It didn't matter how desperately he would fight back. Ryou, especially in this state, was always a rather twiggy boy and was constantly picked on in school; not much changed. His only defense was his mind, and that was all he ever needed.

"What are you-"

"Hush, or I'll make this more painful than necessary," Bakura snapped.

Ryou's doe-eyes widened. What was he going to do?

Bakura's smirk faded a little, but its successor still held that feral wildcat quality. He retrieved his box, carefully opening it out of Ryou's already limited view. Pulling out a freshly sharpened switchblade of his bountiful knife collection, Bakura gleefully popped the blade out. Putting the box down, making sure to close the lid, he turned around to face Ryou.

"Now, now, little Ryou. Don't look so frightened. I'd be lying if I said I wanted to skip this part, but to be honest, my counterpart wants you dead, " he said nonchalantly, a teasing tone as he elongated certain syllables, giving a eerily seductive quality to his already honeyed voice. His smoking habits could be heard through it if you listened carefully. Stepping closer to a fidgeting, wide-eyed Ryou he could catch the intake of a shaky breath, admiring the way his eyes gave off a defiant, yet paralyzed scrutiny.

'Is he going to kill me? But . . . why so soon? They've only interrogated me. Are they already disposing of me? Why . . . why . . . ' jumbled nonsense raced through Ryou's head. 'This is ridiculous . . . no.' He tried to calm his heart, but to no avail. The closer the frightening man came, the quicker Ryou felt his heart's pace become. Almost sluggishly, Bakura rested the cool blade against the exposed, pale neck of Ryou Bakura. Leaning in, the thief's face ended up so close to Ryou's that he could nearly feel the faintest brush of heated lips against his, eyes never removing themselves from Ryou's glossy chestnuts. Chuckling darkly, Bakura moved his mouth to the ear of his victim.

"However, " Bakura whispered, " I would imagine this town more enthralling with you in it…" Warm breath fanned over Ryou's ear, causing him to involuntarily shiver.

Ryou gulped, braving speaking to the sinister figure next to him. Too close. He was too close. "S-so . . . what are you going to do?"

"Just a little fun, really." A full-blown cackle echoed off of the walls, only making Ryou more frightened by him.

The knife glided down his lower neck to his exposed torso, the blade was suddenly pressed into the skin beneath it, a harsh red line appearing in its wake. Ryou hissed inwardly, thin brows wrinkled, his nose scrunching. Bakura dragged the knife in various places on Ryou's torso. Not deep enough to be dangerous, yet blood trickled down in modest drops. All the while, Ryou managed to hold the panicked groans escape his quivering lips. Bakura immediately backed away, making sure to catch the stray drops on Ryou's old shirt. Bakura's crimson eyes never leaving Ryou's chocolate ones. As the latter became distracted by the alacrity, Bakura moved the edge of the blade to Ryou's upper left arm, firmly sinking it into the flesh there. Ryou's revere was instantly broken as the searing pain spread through his arm. A strangled yowl finally made its way to the surface. Bakura cracked an unusual grin, almost as if he was sad, but continued with gashes up the pale arm to mimic the first one. Ryou began to squirm away from the pain as best he could, only irritating Bakura. He jammed the blade into Ryou's thigh with a _squelch. _Ryou jerked upwards, straining his wrists against the shackles, causing slivers of red to appear on the dirtied skin. His voice caught in his throat, as if letting out a scream no one could hear. The wail eventually came to the surface as the knife was slowly pulling out of his thigh, Bakura's foreboding chuckle making it to his ears over the overpowering thrumming in his ears.

Everything slowed when he was stabbed in the other thigh, Ryou's senses becoming slow and sluggish. He could feel the cold chill crawling up his spine, yet his sweat slicked down his forehead as he trembled, a few stray tears making it out of his eye as he tried to control the noises coming out of his throat. He couldn't stay focused enough, however. Groans let themselves known in between strangled pants. Patches of white and black smeared across his vision, the pain indescribable. As the blade slipped out of the second wound, Bakura dabbed both gouges with the shirt again, smearing the blood as much as possible. It irritated the wounds, making Ryou let out another whimper.

"Shh, it'll be over soon, boy," Bakura cooed.

Ryou attempted to refocus his vision, although it was difficult as making sure he was still breathing and trying to maintain the pain were already sending his muddied thought process for a demented ride. He managed to turn his gaze onto Bakura, watching the man soak up the blood and snicker all the while.

"You're sick," Ryou choked out.

"That was established awhile back, I assumed. However, you'll thank me later." Bakura answered in a snarky manner.

Ryou was taken aback by the statement. What the hell was he talking about?

The shackled man didn't get a chance to ponder further, as Bakura got up with Ryou's shirt slung over his shoulder, licking the blood off of the blade before sticking it back into his box. He turned back around to face Ryou.

"Someone will be here to clean you up again, take care of your wounds." Bakura stated flatly. "I'll be back in two days. That's when you get to thank me."

He picked up the box and was about to head out the door, but suddenly halted. He turned his gaze to Ryou, and spontaneously walking back over. He lowered his face to Ryou's level, only having Ryou scowl at him in return. Bakura raised an eyebrow and smirked. Cautiously, he leaned in only to stop right before their lips touched. Ryou held his breath as Bakura's warm one blew over Ryou's now very dry lips. Bakura's face softened before he backed away and pivoted, finally heading out the door and letting Ryou rest.

"What the hell, Bakura? I'm not taking care of him. I'm not a doctor." Malik snapped.

Bakura snickered. "Close enough. And yes, you will be taking care of him. I'm going to make some…preparations so I'll be gone. Ryou will need the medical attention until I get back."

Malik's frown deepened. "You're going to get caught. Cahill will find you and slit your throat."

"Not if he doesn't know. I won't get caught. Trust me, Malik; I have a plan."

"Ha! What plan? He'll track you down within a week. You're under him now, that's the price you pay." Flipping his bouncy blonde hair behind his shoulder and letting out a dramatic sigh, Malik started to gather supplies out of the "medical room" they had set up. "But…I'd like to see you try. Fine. I'll take care of your little cream puff. You owe me big time. "

Bakura smirked. "Of course. If I live, that is."

Malik snorted, allowing his tan lips to relax into a playful grin and continuing to gather what he needed.

_Please review if you liked it, or have any suggestions for future chapters. Thank you!_


	2. Suspicious Beginnings

**Disclaimer: **You already know, Malik's beautiful midriff belongs to Kazuki Takashi, along with the rest of Yu-Gi-Oh!

**A/N: **Thank you so much to my reviewers and all the people who added this to their watch list! It means a lot.

Malik heedfully opened the door as quietly as he could, the irritating screeching breaking the hum of white noise that was a constant in the underground hide out or secret layer or what have it. It was hard to breathe down there, where ever it was. Clumsily fumbling with the brown crosshatch bag he'd slung over his sturdy shoulder, Malik inched his way into the cell that held Cahill's captive. Although, it seemed he was more Bakura's captive. Cahill didn't really interact with any of the "clients"—a terrible nickname given by a fellow accomplice- directly, as he felt it would 'ruin his plans' or whatever. Cahill was the serial killer; he was the one calling the shots, the one with the money, and the one with the metaphorical rope snugly tied around the necks of his mischief makers. _How lovely. _Malik scoffed internally. He lazily shut the door behind him and set the bag down on the stool that sat a few feet away from the door.

He finally laid his eyes on the cadaverous man chained to the wall.

"Gods, Bakura. You couldn't have gone easier on him?" Malik asked out loud, knowing he wouldn't get an answer. Bakura would probably snidely go on about how he did make it easy on Ryou, which would instantly result in a small bicker back and forth, both trying to haughtily trample on each other's pride. Malik rolled his eyes at the thought.

Ryou's thighs were the first thing Malik noticed, as they looked as they'd bled profusely in the small time frame since Bakura had requested Malik aid Ryou. The top parts of his trousers were soaked with blood and sweat from the effort. Even in Ryou's unconscious state, Malik could see the argent-haired man in front of him was in a serious amount of pain by the way his chest heaved and his fingers shook. He was losing way too much blood. Couldn't Bakura make his job a little easier? How typical.

Lacerations etched into the flesh of his chest and his arms. Those had stopped bleeding before Malik had arrived. Most of Ryou's face was hidden by his ridiculously knotted hair as he slouched. Malik turned his gaze from Ryou and retrieved his bag now that he had briefly surveyed. Sometimes being the son of a batty doctor came in handy. Even though basic First Aid wasn't _that_ impressive. He grabbed solution, cotton swabs, hospital bandages and a few small packets of sanitizing cloths and hurried over to Ryou's side. He gently checked Ryou's pulse. Slower than normal, but Malik could remedy that. Just as gingerly, the lavender-eyed youth pulled out the wipes and began taking care of the wounds on Ryou's arms and chest. Ryou flinched and airily hissed but his eye lids remained closed. Once the blood on the upper body had been cleaned, Malik moved onto solution and bandaging. Ryou managed to open his eyes as Malik was working on one of the last chest wounds, pressing medical tape over the gauze pads held there by nimble tan fingers.

Burning was still evident to Ryou. He had no idea how much time had passed since Bakura left and this stranger arrived. He had barely heard him come in, as Ryou slipped in and out of consciousness all the while. He began regaining control of his senses as the smell of antiseptics and the familiar healing burn sizzled onto his now incredibly tender skin. Ryou forced his eyes open, only to be greeting by a full head of sandy blonde hair, neatly arranged. A curious set of lilac irises concentrated on the task at hand, and that was patching Ryou up. Ryou said nothing to the individual treating him, although Ryou knew that the man knew he was conscious again. Chocolate brown eyes carefully watched the tanned male scuffle off the floor to grab his bag again. Ryou dropped his gaze as soon as the stranger turned back around and sat next to him on his knees.

"This is kind of awkward, but I'm Malik. I'm obviously here to fix you up, don't mind me," Malik said.

Ryou made a noncommittal noise and blinked slowly. He tried to clear his throat to speak, but he was too exhausted.

"I'm going to have to slide your trousers off. I need to stitch those stab wounds up, " Malik stated almost shyly.

Ryou's face set into a worried expression. He'd already been exposed well out of his comfort zone today, and he wasn't in the mood for any more. Although, given the situation, Ryou knew morals weren't of value right now.

"Don't worry, I'm not a prick like Bakura. It won't take too long. Can't say it won't be painful, though," the tall stranger said in a more casual tone.

Bakura . . .

Ryou shivered. He was not looking forward to seeing that bastard's face again.

Ryou nodded as an 'OK' to continue.

Malik nodded back, carefully undoing the buttons and pulling down the zipper on the ruined article of clothing. Ryou inhaled sharply, the garment sticking to his skin as it was peeled off of his legs. A bit more blood trickled down his thigh, but Ryou was relieved of the uncomfortable cling the blood had brought on. He took the chance to glance down at his naked legs and almost instantly regretted it. It wasn't the worst he'd seen, of course. But it was on _his _body. Blood spilling out of _his _legs. Ryou tasted bile, but swallowed down the resolve to vomit.

Malik snagged a fresh wash cloth out of his seemingly never-ending bag and scooted back to the bucket that Bakura had forgotten, scraping his jean-clad knees over the rough floor. Malik tipped the bucket to pour some of the water out to see how clean it was. Quite clean, it would do. He dipped the cloth in, and turned back to face Ryou, whom had been watching from the corner of his eye warily. Malik brought himself to his feet, but still crouched so he could have a good reach on Ryou's legs.

"This'll probably sting. Brace yourself," Malik warned.

And sting it did. Ryou tried again to hide his pain, but it wasn't working out that well as a few breathless whimpers escaped the confines of his throat. Malik tried his best to be delicate, but these wounds weren't going to scrub themselves, and he was growing impatient. Soon enough, the gaping holes were cleaned as much as they could be. Malik, without warning, speedily pulled the needle he had prepared much earlier through the skin, bringing the two sides of flesh together, stitch by stitch. Ryou flinched upon feeling the thread sliding underneath his skin. The irritation of the wounds themselves brought upon enough ache as it was. He could feel himself starting to break out into a cold sweat and gulped as he tried to take the pain as best he could.

"We normally don't tend to our . . . captives like this. Actually, they normally don't live this long. You're pretty lucky, if you ask me. " Malik tried making small talk to try to get Ryou's focus somewhere else. Ryou only returned with a watery-eyed glance, trying to find his voice to ask a question.

"We?" Ryou repeated weakly.

"Oh, I let that slip? Whoopsie. I suppose you would figure it out anyway, it's your job. Personally, I don't care what happens to anyone here, too. They're all a bunch of fools. Either way, yes. You thought Bakura was the only one?" Malik rambled a little bit, making sure to keep his focus on the stitches. They were nearly done on his right leg.

"Well, to be honest, no. I'm assuming there's a few more than Bakura, right?" Ryou cleared his throat to try to make the words come out clearer, but his voice was still subdued and cracking.

"You assume correctly. I probably shouldn't be telling you this, but frig it, I don't care. Mixing things up are entertaining to say the least." Malik finished sewing the gouge with ease, and wrapped gauze around Ryou's thigh as he continued. "There are quite a few people working under that killer your group was trying to catch. Bakura and I are just accomplices. I mainly help with the clean up, though."

Ryou considered this information for a moment while Malik switched sides and started on Ryou's left thigh. That would make a lot of sense for someone in the killer's position. Having pawns. It was a good idea, but Ryou thought it would eventually catch up with the sociopath. Malik was crossing the line right now by helping him, which made Ryou think the other assistants might have broken code here and there. And Malik knew of the team trying to catch them, so information must pass pretty quickly within the group, which also suggested there weren't _too _many underlings. Ryou estimated around seven or so, give or take. There were probably some that had briefly helped, maybe got some extra cash, while the other main groupies stuck with the killer. This also raised another question in Ryou's mind; why were they working with him at all? Malik seemed a little younger than him and Bakura. He was still in the prime of his youth, why would he be here? And Bakura. If Bakura was some sort of criminal, what would he gain? What does Malik gain? What would any of them gain by working under such delicate circumstances? Malik said he was just the 'clean up'. Ryou assumed that was referring to Malik having some medical experience, and possibly hiding evidence. Yes, that would suit him. He seemed like he could be careless, but based on Ryou's observation of the stitching Malik was doing then, he wasn't so careless. He was attentive, and could be articulate when needed. He took the medical field seriously, even if he knew just the basics. Though Malik did seem idealistic, and Ryou would like to have debates with him if that weren't the predicament. Still, digressing, they must have some sort of tag on people like Malik. He needed his space, and if anything, could take a lot of control from what was observed. Ryou figured Bakura was just doing it for kicks, but there was also something that made Ryou think maybe the killer had something on Bakura. Ryou couldn't imagine what. Maybe he had something Bakura needed. But what exactly? So many factors were missing for him to be able to complete the tricky equation.

Malik finished up the stitches and wrapped Ryou's pale thigh. His legs still throbbed, but the brunt of the pain was under control.

"Honestly, I wish I could get you out of here but I don't have a key to the shackles, " Malik said as he gathered up his supplies, "since we're not going to kill you and all. I think." He shrugged as he straightened up, giving Ryou a small smirk. Ryou's eyes widened.

"Haha! Don't worry. I'm only kidding. Well, sort of. Anyway, I'm going to get you some new clothes. I don't think you'll want these back." Malik snagged the bloody trousers off the floor with an awkward kind of grin. "I have a blanket that can work to keep you warm I'll bring, and if I'm not mistaken," Malik peeked at Ryou's pant size, "you and Bakura are similar in jean size. He's a bit taller, though. I'll find something of his. He always leaves his crap here." Malik mumbled a few things to himself, Ryou could not decipher what was said. He was already dozing off again when the door clicked shut once more.

Malik peered down the hall cautiously as he closed the door behind him. It was a short hallway, but the echoes were enough to make someone tense. The hall was similar to the four holding cells that were spread along the corridor, with moist stones and a lingering musty, rotting stench. There wasn't anyone else in the other chambers. They were mainly used for weapons and the like. Only once did they have two captives in the same time frame. Of course, it didn't end well. Ryou was incredibly lucky that Cahill was gone, or the white-haired anthropologist would be dead right now. His remains scattered about the city of Domino like petals to a rose, and Malik would probably help scatter those very remains.

Malik made his way down the hall to the exit door that would lead to the upstairs. This was only the lowest level. Still quite a dank place, either way. He'd only arrived two years ago, but they hadn't done much to improve their living conditions of the broken down building and several misleading tunnels. He had lived with his father and sister for some time, and even though he complained then about their small apartment being too uncomfortable and cramped, that was pretty nice compared to this. Malik never thought it was a good idea for him to be living at the killer's base, considering it would be much easier to find them that way. He was told there were other bases, but they were mainly used for back-up. Malik would often feel lonely here, as the other workers were always out and about. He didn't really have friends to keep him company besides the ones that resided here. His friends were his accomplices. His dear sister, Ishizu, had tried to seek him out before, despite her being the reason he was here (unbeknownst to her) only to be disappointed to what her baby brother had been up to. The last time she had contacted Malik was around four months ago for his 19th birthday, which seemed silly to him. His father, according to Ishizu, was still working at the little hospital on the outskirts of town. That was where Malik had met Bakura.

As Malik ascended the second flight of stairs after the basement steps, he attempted to refocus his thoughts onto his current occupations. He jogged his way to the medical supply room, unloading his bag onto the untidy counter top as soon as he arrived. He chuckled to himself as he did so, remembering once when Bakura referred to Malik as "Mary Poppins for all the junk he carried in that bag of his". Earning a nice slap across the face to the thief, followed by a quick playful scuffle.

While in his daydream, Malik failed to notice the shadow peeking around the door, eying the youth quizzically.

"What are you so giggly about?" the shadow inquired.

Malik let out a quiet gasp and whipped around. His posture only relaxed slightly at the man who intruded on his musing.

"Duke," Malik let out the air he had been holding in, "don't sneak up on me like that. If I was Valon, you would have gotten socked in the face."

Duke smirked, "But you're not, so I'm safe, right?"

Malik's face sunk into a scowl but ignored the backhanded jab and went back to re-organizing supplies, pitching any used materials.

"Is someone on base hurt?" Duke asked with casual interest, twirling a strand of his onyx hair between two rough fingers. "There's blood all over."

"Huh? Oh, yeah. I took care of it, though," Malik steadily replied. Only he, Bakura, and another of Cahill's more temporary underlings knew of Bakura's attempt to escape the ever-binding clutches. Duke didn't know Ryou was going to live. Although Malik, knowing why Bakura was here in the first place, was ever so curious as to why Bakura would leave without getting his information . . . unless Cahill had given it to him. Bakura wasn't like Malik. He wasn't here to protect anyone. However, the information that Cahill supposedly had was important enough to bind Bakura here. For Bakura to leave . . .

"Hey, what's up with that captive? Wasn't Bakura supposed to kill it off?" Duke questioned. He had stepped further into the poorly lit room, his forest green eyes watching Malik curiously, searching for a smudge of deceit. Everyone was too careful.

"I don't know, I don't keep tabs on Bakura," Malik stated flatly.

"Really now? You two are so close, going way back and all. I would think," Duke stood mere inches away from Malik now, viridian eyes dimly fierce with a fighting courage to outdo the other. "He tells you _everything_." A certain kind of languid pace that, while controlled, sparked with the anticipation of a rumble slid past Duke's still smirking lips.

"Not really. He tells me next to nothing." Malik answered. His insides were being sparked by Duke's words. To other ears, it may appear harmless. Between those four walls, everything had an ulterior motive. Every sliver of personal information seeped was a challenge for dominance and control of one another. Bakura had a talent for pricking everyone's nerves in particular next to Duke.

Duke searched Malik's lavender eyes once more, looking for a way in. After a chilling quiet, he let it go and broke the truculent glare.

"Whatever you say, kiddo. I'm off, gotta go pick up the girl from the airport. Might be gone for a couple days. Lemme' know what goes down when I get back, okay?" Duke started his exit before any more words could be spoken.

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